Another Reality
by BobbyP
Summary: This story takes place in an alternate universe, in which every fictional character ever created exists and lives. The characters from geeky/nerdy franchises go to Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry. MorMor and Johnlock confirmed for later, possibly some Sherlolly/Sheriarty. 10 points to anyone who can see the TFIOS reference in chapter 4. (Might add Hazel and Gus later) :)
1. Gotta Get Back To Hogwarts

**Sherlock**

Sherlock glanced briefly around the station, taking in the litter of nonchalant passers by who didn't even grace him with a first glance, never mind a second. A tall, ginger Hufflepuff walked to the train, hands on the shoulders of his two redheaded siblings, assuring them that they'd love their new school, a mother smiled despite her tears as she hugged her child farewell, a Slytherin with dyed purple hair and a lip piercing threw a mischievous arm around her best friend, filling her in on the details of an eventful summer, and to his right, a fiery-haired Slytherin talked of slipping puking pastilles into Snape's wine at the feast, as a bright-eyed Ravenclaw listened intently. They were all so... together. It made his stomach turn. Everyone had someone else. Sherlock, however, was alone, Mycroft having decided to stay at Hogwarts for the holidays. _**Fine**_, Sherlock had thought when he told him. He didn't need Mycroft. He didn't need anyone.

He stopped before the platform. This was it. Or at least that's what Mycroft had told him.  
Just run into the wall at platform 9 3/4 and he was there. Then again, he found that Mycroft's advice was seldom true, Mycroft preferring to humiliate him than to actually help. He didn't even understand why he had to go to Hogwarts. He had been perfectly happy to recline on the sofa in Baker Street, hands resting against his face as if in prayer, contemplating the minds of the brilliant.

He stepped carefully around a younger witch, struggling to fit her enormous stack of books into a small satchel, printed with the logo of some crude muggle band. As he passed, her mousy brown hair, swept back into a high ponytail, was thrown back, and her inquisitive brown eyes stared into his for a brief second, before her cheeks turned a brilliant shade of pan-tone 191, and she looked away.  
Anyone else might have blushed, or even ventured a cheeky wink at the girl's obvious attraction to him, but not Sherlock. He merely walked past as though he had never seen her, and continued to stroll down the platform, bag slung over one shoulder, trying to concentrate on anything but the inevitable twinge in his stomach as his eyes met Anderson's as he passed him.

Strange, he thought, as he got closer to the train, that owls, toads and the like were considered perfectly acceptable here, but his loyal dog Redbeard had to stay at home. He didn't like the thought of replacing him, and so, not for the first time, Sherlock was alone, with not even an owl for company. He didn't like them much anyway. Their beady, judgemental eyes were always too reminiscent of Mycroft's. He blinked hard, shaking the thoughts of his brother out of his head.

With a deep breath, he stepped forward into the archway, waiting for the inevitable moment when his face would come into contact with the rustic stone, but it never came. He opened his eyes, to find himself stood on a grand platform, beside a magnificent locomotive. It was not the King's Cross he had been standing in mere seconds before. Now, there were no muggle passers by to see him, he was surrounded by wizards and witches. All around him, children chattered in groups, siblings bidding their goodbyes and parents hugging their children with tears of pride welling in their eyes.

And Sherlock was alone.

**Smith and Saxon**

John Smith ran to the train, laughing with an exhilarated smile of anticipation as his converse met the platform, his multicoloured scarf trailing behind him like a cape. A new adventure awaited, and by Galifrey, he was going to be first on that train. He slowed himself by the side of the train, running his fingers along the smooth metal, as his lips murmured "you are beautiful". His mother quickly found him, and sighed, shaking her head.  
_"John..." _she cautioned, flashing a knowing smile. She knew how he was with vehicles like this.  
No more than eight days prior, she had discovered him in the abandoned workshop behind their house, showered in the light of sparks from an odd blue box.  
"I was only borrowing it" He had said when he saw her. "There's a malfunction in the chameleon circuit, that's all. I'll give it back when it's fixed. Really, I will" His mother had inhaled, with every intention on lecturing him on the very questionable morals behind his story, but couldn't bring herself to say it.  
There was something about this box-Old and new, all at once, and the bluest blue, and clearly, possessively _his._ The connection between the two was so strong, it hung in the air, bonding them together with more force than an unbreakable vow. To bring them apart would be to break the celestial bond between them, so she simply sighed, and slowly walked to the door, speaking so quietly, she was barely audible, already questioning her actions. "I didn't see anything" she mumbled, shuffling out, catching a tiny glimpse of the all consuming smile spread across her son's face as he returned to fixing the circuit.

It seemed so long ago now, that he had sat by her side on the cliffs of Galifrey, staring at the magnificence of the burnt orange sky, firey against a citadel of reflective buildings, dusted with red sand. And now he was leaving for Hogwarts School Of Witchcraft And Wizardry, and though she would miss him dearly, she bid him a fond farewell as he boarded the train, holding back her tears until he had vanished from sight.

The Doctor, as John _preferred_ to be called, walked cautiously through the train, eyes searching for an empty compartment. Suddenly, he was thrown to his back with a thud, his books nailing the floor, his inkwells clattering against the carpet. He looked, up to see the cause of the disruption. A tall boy, with dark hair, and a superior way of holding himself stared down with stern, yet apologetic eyes. He said nothing, merely extending a gloved hand from beneath his overly expensive robes. The Doctor took it, smiling as he fumbled to his feet, avoiding the steadfast gaze of the boy.

Once stood, he found himself only a few inches away from his face. The boy's superior eyes bore down into his, making him feel insecure, and subconsciously loosed his scarf. The silence lasted for a few seconds, before the boy knelt at his feet, calmly gathering the Doctor's things, and rising to his feet gracefully. He handed the books over, and the doctor clumsily fumbled to stuff them in his bag, snagging the corner of one of his books on a jar of Every Flavour Jelly Beans in his haste. The boy chuckled with a cheeky wink before extending a gloved hand once more, this time in greeting. "I apologize, I should have been watching where I was going." The Doctor gripped his hand, and they shook hands politely.  
The Doctor found himself stuttering, which had never happened before. "I-I, erm, I'm the-"  
"The Doctor." The boy interjects. "John Smith, to anyone else."  
The Doctor should have been shaken by the boy's knowledge of him, but merely laughed, as though impressed. "How did you know that?"  
The boy looked him up and down. "We tend to notice our own." It then dawned on him. The boy was a Galifreyan, too. "Harold Saxon. Friends call me Hal. But you..." he winked again "Can call me... the Master" A sinister expression flickered across his face, lingering for a second too long in his eyes, leaving the Doctor feeling uneasy. The train shuddered, beginning it's journey, slamming the Doctor into the boy.  
The Master chuckled, steadying himself against the wall of the moving train. "Perhaps it would be better to continue this chat in a compartment."

**Brothers Of Asgard  
**  
Loki shoved Thor. "Brother, lay off" Thor proceeded to grapple with Loki until he had him in a headlock, his fist scraping against his younger brothers skull, messing up his neatly slicked hair. Then, his hands fell through, finding no purchase, as the holographic Loki faded, revealing the true Loki, sprawled out on the other side of the compartment, his legs up on the seat. Thor laughed heartily. "You will have to teach me that, someday, brother"

"Not a chance" Loki chuckled, biting into an apple. Thor straightened his red and yellow tie, eyes still fixed on his brother.  
"Which house?" He asked.  
"Hm?" Loki turned his head.  
"Which house do you think you'll be in?"  
"Preferably not Griffindor. I don't think I can tolerate you for such long periods of time" The words would have stung, but a playful smile on Loki's lips betrayed him.

Thor was used to Loki's teasing, and knew it was done with affection, but he could see the truth behind Loki's words. Their relationship had grown very tense, as of late. They were soon to crown the new king of Asgard, and Thor was the favourite to win. Loki was an exellent liar, but Thor could sense the jealousy and contempt Loki felt for him.

Just at that moment, the train pulled away from the station, and two figures, shadowed against the clouded glass, slammed into the door of the compartment.

**Scotland Yard**

John Watson reclined in the seat, staring intently out of the window, desperate to remember each and every piece of the scenery along the way. He feels Greg slump into the seat next to him. "John!" He exclaims, outstretching his arms triumphantly and resting them for a second on John's shoulders before lowering them. "It's been too long!"  
Greg and John had met in their previous school, and had been close friends, until John was held back a year due to 'family troubles' disrupting his studies. Nevertheless, John was pleased to see Greg again. He sported the warm red and yellow robes of a Gryfindor, inspiring John's nerves to re-ignite the internal fire of worry building in the pit of his stomach. "You got in then, I see"  
Greg laughed "Yeah, I'm a lion now. Well and truly."  
John shuddered unpleasantly, as a wave of worry swept over him. "You don't think... Well, it's just... "  
"What is it?" Lestrade's face shows concern.  
"What if I don't get in?" John mumbled.  
Greg gave a short, hearty laugh and slapped him on the shoulder.  
"Then so what? It's just a bloody house name, John! It's not going to change who you are, and I certainly won't be abandoning you just because you wear different colours!" Greg saw straight through John's 'brave face'. He knew what was really bothering him.  
"John. You don't have to worry. You're not like her, okay? You're better than that, and even if you do end up in Slytherin, it doesn't mean you're gonna end up like she did."  
John appreciated the way Greg avoided using Harry's name, and even though his words did little to comfort him, he smiled.

It was at this point that John noticed they weren't alone. Sitting across from them was a small, tough-looking girl, with frizzy black hair in tight ringlets. John smiled at her. She glared back at him, seeming almost jealous that John had stolen Greg's attention from her.  
"Don't mind her" Lestrade chuckled. "This is Sally Donovan. She's a first year, like you."  
"Hey" John said, smiling politely.  
Sally nodded, and did little more to acknowledge his existence for the rest of the journey. That is, however, until John's gaze drifted from the window, and into the hall separating the compartments.

A tall, thin boy with alabaster skin and a pale face, framed by curly black hair was slowly moving down the train, still searching for an empty compartment. Each door he knocked on opened for a only short collection of seconds, before being slammed in his face again. The boy did not look sad, nor did he show any sign of anger, he merely straightened his jacket and proceeded to the next door, each time being met with the same reaction. For some reason, John couldn't force his eyes to stray from the strange boy's face. John had never been one to enjoy the misery of others, and the sheer sight of the way the other students treated this boy boiled in his blood. What reason had they to be so cold to him?

He leaned over to Greg, who had grown tired of Sally's questioning and began to doze off to sleep, nudging him awake.  
"Who's that?" John inquire, never once moving his eyes from the boy's face.  
"That?" Greg frowned "Is Sherlock Holmes."  
Sally muttered something that sounded awfully like "Freak".

"Why will no-one let him in?" John peered around the door to get a better glimpse of the boy.  
Sally was still muttering.  
"You see, Sherlock... Well, he's not exactly normal, to say the least." Greg finally says, struggling to avoid the accusing eyes of John.  
"How so?"  
"Well," Greg sighed "He's just... him, I guess. We knew each other for a while in my old town. He was only eight years old, and he was chasing down this kid... No idea what his name was. Apparently, this eleven year old kid killed someone. Remember that story in the news? That poor kid, Carl Powers, the one that drowned under somewhat _mysterious_ circumstances?"  
"I remember. He was after the killer?"  
"Apparantly so. Well, Sherlock had followed him to my town, desperate to track him down, but you see, police don't tend to take the accusations of an eight year old boy too seriously. Even if he did catch the bastard, they never would've believed him." Greg seemed to stare into space.

"How did he know who it was?" John whispered, keeping in mind the rapidly closing distance between Sherlock and their compartment.  
"That's what makes Sherlock-well, Sherlock. He's brilliant. He can take one look at you, and he can tell you your entire life story. He calls it "The Science Of Deduction". He taught himself to notice tiny little things, and be able to find out loads of information from them. Like, say you see someone with a wedding ring. If it's scuffed and badly looked after, it means there are problems with the marriage, and if the inside of the ring is shiny and polished, it means there's an affair involved, because they've taken it off so often, it's polished the inside of the ring"

There was a stunned silence. "Wow. That's brilliant." John smiled.  
"All credit to Sherlock Holmes." Greg grinned.

Sally spoke up for the first time since Greg woke up. "Sherlock Holmes is a freak."

You could feel the tension in the air. The way she said it. "Freak" Like it was some disgusting swear word. John had never heard such hatred towards someone displayed in a single word. She spat every word she spoke, like his name wasn't worthy of gracing her lips, like it was some kind of fould expletive.

"_**Sally**_" Greg warned.  
"He is! He's a fucking freak, Greg, and you know it!" She turned to John with such ferocity, he was taken aback by the anger in her eyes. "He's obsessed, John... with murder!"  
She scanned his face for an appropriate reaction, but she found none. He wasn't entirely sure how to react to that. "  
That's messed up, right? He just tags along with the police to the crime scene, peering over the police barriers, just desperate to see the body. He's a psycho! One day, the police will be standing around a body, and he'll be the one who put it there!"  
"SHUT UP!" Greg's voice was far too loud, Sherlock would surely hear it, he was at the compartment next to theirs now, but Greg didn't seem to care. "SHUT UP, SALLY! Sherlock Holmes is brilliant! Brilliance doesn't make him a freak, Sally, it makes him a genius. Sure, he can be a complete arsehole at times, but for Christ's sake, Sally, keep your damned opinions to yourself!" Sally shut up. Clearly Lestrade believed in Sherlock Holmes more than he care to let on.

There was a knock on the door. Sherlock stood just outside, eyes fixed on the floor, pretending he hadn't heard. Of course, he had, but he had no intention to encourage further verbal assault from Sally. He grew tired of her dullness very quickly, and had no desire to listen to her usual string of meaningless insults.  
John stood to open the door, eager to meet this so-called genius. "Don't you dare!" Sally's scream fell on deaf ears. John didn't care about her childish prejudice. He had to know.

He opened the door.

**Sarah Jane**

The girl sat alone in the compartment just beyond the one where John and Greg chatted merrilly, oblivious to Sally's jealous glare.

Her fluffy brown hair hung from her face, trembling with the motion of the train. Her head was bowed, held between two despairing hands. What was she even doing here? She belonged at home, with her parents. What was she thinking?

She _**wasn't **_thinking.

A man had turned up at her door, and whisked her away to a land where anything was possible. And she'd gone with him. _She didn't even know him_. And now here she was. Alone on a train bound for God knows where.

What was a muggle doing aboard the Hogwarts Express, anyway? She winced, imagining the other children taunting her, calling her a filthy mudblood, a muggle-she imagined the lonely nights secluded to a dark corner of the common room, as her classmates did their best to pretend she wasn't there.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. Two boys stood before her; one gangly and clad in a striped scarf and sporting messy brown hair, waving and grinning like an idiot; the other, tall and in control, with darker hair, glancing at the other with an amused expression. Then the the dark haired boy spoke.  
"Pardon me, miss, but all of the other compartments are full. May we burden you with our presence?"  
She nodded, as they stepped inside. The boy offered her a gloved hand. She took it.  
"Harold Saxon. Call me Hal."  
She smiled "Sarah Jane Smith."  
The Master grinned. "How pleasant to meet you, miss Smith."  
The gangly boy stepped forward. He awkwardly shook her hand and stepped away. "I'm John. John Smith. Nice to meet you, Sarah Jane."  
Sarah Jane took in the boy who stood before her. Though at first, he seemed childish, his eyes were aged beyond recognition. The eyes of a man who had seen a great many terrible things. The eyes of a man who continued to fight when all else was lost. The eyes of a man who brought hope with him wherever he went. Those eyes sent a chill down her spine, and despite having only just met him, she had a feeling they would be great friends. There was a warmth in his eyes, almost fatherly in comparison to the blank, tormented eyes of Harold Saxon.

She laughed to break the silence. "We have the same last name."  
The Doctor chose the seat next to Sarah Jane. The Master sat across from them, politely looking out of the window, allowing them time to chat. If only they could hear it. Every judder of the train, that damned knocking. The drumbeats in his head now exaggerated by the thudding of the train-the sooner they got off of this thing, the better.

"So, Sarah Jane-"  
"Sarah's fine."  
"Really? I much prefer Sarah Jane."  
She shrugged. _**Whatever you say.**_

"So Sarah Jane," He started again "What do you think of the stars?"

**All For One**

Wiping the foggy glass, Loki could see the two figures pushed up against the door. The first, a tall muscular boy with dark brown hair, had the other pinned up to the wall by his neck.  
The second was around the same height, but less muscular, and wearing rounded glasses. Both wore Gryfindor robes.

Loki flashed Thor an amused smiled before opening the door, causing them to topple onto the floor of the compartment. Thor spread his arms wide in welcome. "Bruce! Tony!"  
Loki chuckled "Glad you could make it"

Tony hastilly pulled himself off of Bruce, only to playfully punch him in the stomach when he stood up. Bruce sighed and rolled his eyes. "Lay off, Tony"  
Tony slumps down into the seat next to Loki, throwing his legs off of the seat, earning himself a menacing glare from Thor's younger brother.  
"Hey, it's not my fault he won't turn" Tony objects, kicking Bruce in the shin.

"Ah yes" Loki smiles. "Bruce Banner, isn't it?" He doesn't wait for a response. "I've heard all about you. You and your... " Loki searches for a word that isn't 'monster'  
Bruce cut him off sharply. "The other guy."  
"Yes, that."

He hoped he hadn't made his interest too obvious. Loki was secretly very interested in Bruce's abilities. After all, not everyone had the ability to turn into a one-thousand-four-hundred pound collaboration of anger and strength. I mean, imagine the power you'd have if you copuld control the Hulk!  
Loki realised he wouldn't mind a couple rounds of Tony's favourite game _**'Try to make Banner angry'**_ himself.

They sat in relative silence for a while. Bruce didn't like to talk about 'the other guy', and Loki just crossed a line that he should have avoided. They didn't call him on it, but they all thought it.

Bruce realised they were waiting for him to say something. He decided it would be a wise move to change the subject. He glanced over at Loki, resting a hand in an almost fatherly manner on his knee for a few brief seconds.  
"So, Loki, wasn't it?" He nodded. "Loki. Which house do you want to be in?"  
Loki smiled dryly, winking at his brother. "Anything that means I can get away from him"  
There was a collective sigh and a few chuckles from the compartment, and it was clear everyone was glad the tension was broken.

"So, not Gryffindor, then?" Bruce raised his eyebrows.  
"I like to fancy myself as a Ravenclaw. Perhaps a Slytherin." Loki smirked sisterly. Bruce laughed.  
Tony talked through a mouthful of blueberries. "Smart kid. Pick the house that'll get you the most success, and don't look back. Don't listen to any of that 'Slytherins are evil' bullshit. Trust me, my father was a Slytherin." He offered a handful of blueberries to Bruce. "Blueberry?"  
Bruce took a couple with a chuckle, knowing better than to question where he got them from. Tony had this habit of hiding food around the common room. And in the classrooms. And on the train. And, more recently, in Bruce's pillowcase. It was just something he'd come to accept about his friend. One of those traits that people have, that you see on tv, or in the street, and you immediately think of them.

Thor sighed theatrically as Tony offered him the blueberries, but grabbed a handful anyway. When offered, Loki shook his head.

Thor clearly had something on his mind. Loki could see the way his eyes flashed from Bruce to Tony, before drifting over to him. He wanted to tell them something, but he was embarrassed to tell Loki. To be honest, Loki found it quite surprising that the others didn't seem to notice, they act more like brothers than friends anyway. Loki was just about to address this, when Thor broke the collective silence.

"Tony, I don't suppose you saw Jane today..?" He glanced at Loki, who shrugged nonchalantly in a motion that said _**It's your life**_.  
Tony saw the exchange and gave Loki a wry smile, like that of an embarrassing and highly intoxicated uncle at a christmas party, who has just decided he has a great story to tell.  
"Thor's been smitten with her since first year, and he's too much of a wuss to ask her out."  
"Hey!" Thor kicked him in the shin. Tony grasped his leg in mock agony and laughed it off, thankful for the absence of Thor's hammer, Mjolnir.  
Bruce playfully shoved Tony's shoulder from across the compartment. "I saw her earlier. I thinks she's in one of the compartments right at the front. She was with this brunette girl and these two boys."  
Thor's eyes showed a flicker of jealousy. "Oh."  
Tony winked. "I guess you're gonna have to make your move soon, bro."  
"Shut up." Thor mumbled.

Tony reclines back on the seat, hands resting on the back of his head. "Too bad you don't get along with the ladies the way I do. I guess it's just my good looks. That and my _**Stark**_ charm" He laughs expectantly.  
Bruce facepalms "No, no, no. Don't start with the puns this early in the year."  
Tony chuckles "Honestly Bruce, you complain so much! You could fill a _**Banner **_with all the complaints you make about my puns."  
Thor indicates for Loki to punch him. He obliged. "Tony, shut the hell up" He laughed.

But Tony sees an opportunity. "Oh chill out, Thor. You'll be over it by, say _**Thor's**_day"  
Thor lets out an exasperated sigh. "Brother, will you kindly shut him up before I come over there and do it for him?"  
Loki flashes a cheeky grin at Tony. "I guess we're just _**Loki**_ he didn't make a pun about me"

Bruce sighed. This was gonna be a _**long**_ day.

**22IBelieve in you**

John opened the door.

For the first time, he got a proper look at Sherlock's face. He had a thin face, pale with sunken dark hollows beneath his eyes that made him look like he had neglected sleep a few times too many, or that he had been crying, or both. Despite this, his face was not unpleasant, in fact, John thought him oddly handsome. His face was outlined with dark curls, that only succeeded in further exaggerating his prominent he spoke, his voice was much deeper than he would have expected, his cold grey eyes darting all over John in what seemed like a split second before resting on John's.  
"Excuse me." He said "But I can't seem to find an empty compartment. Is there any room in yours?"  
John nodded, speechless and slightly intimidated by the presence of the strange boy. He squared his shoulders, and tried to make himself seem taller, feeling emasculated by the boys height. He stepped aside, holding the door for him. It was an odd experience for John to feel intimidated by anyone, let alone someone he had only just met.

It didn't surprise him to see that Greg had moved over to sit next to Sally, who was now scowling out of the window.  
Greg smiled in greeting. "Hey Sherlock."  
"Hello Ga-" He stopped himself, apparently having forgotten Greg's name. "Hello Lestrade." He corrected. Greg merely rolled his eyes and smiled. He had long since come to accept Sherlock's inability to remember his name. It was almost as if, when Sherlock tried to remember, all he knew was the first letter. 'G. Lestrade'. Then again, he didn't take that as an insult, after all, he only knew Sherlock for a short while. His sympathy went to his housekeeper-no, his landlady Mrs Hudson. Despite knowing Sherlock for an extremely long time, and being almost a second mother to him, Sherlock often referred to her as 'Mrs Turner'. At least he had the decency to remember the first letter of _**his**_ name.

"So, Sherlock, what happened? Last I saw, you were in a compartment, next thing I know, you're here." Greg asked, with the gentle sterness of a Police Inspector questioning a victim.  
Sherlock smiled. "I told one of the second years that his mother was having an affair, and they kicked me out."  
Greg began to lecture Sherlock on how that wasn't something you should tell someone, when John interjected, desperate to know more about the mysterious boy who sat by his side.  
"The wedding ring, right?" He asked.  
"Hm?" Sherlock looked at him for the first time since he'd entered the compartment. He looked genuinely intrigued by John's knowledge.

Stuttering slightly, John explained, mimicking the words Lestrade had said earlier. "Well, if it's scuffed and badly looked after, it means there are problems with the marriage, and if the inside of the ring is shiny and polished, it means there's an affair involved, because they've taken it off so often, it's polished the inside of the ring"

Sherlock looked genuinely shocked. Then he smiled, seemingly amused. "What has Lestrade been telling you about me?" He raised an eyebrow, and though outwardly appearing to be joking, John sensed a slight undertone of worry in his voice.  
And he was right. Sherlock was worried. Ever since the door opened and the blue-eyed boy had greeted him, he had been terrified. What if Lestrade had told him something bad? Donovan wouldn't have missed an opportunity to tell the blue-eyed boy about how he was a "freak" and she certainly wouldn't have taken kindly to Lestrade even mentioning him in the first place. For the first time in his life, Sherlock actually cared about what someone thought, other than himself. He couldn't quite place why, but he really didn't want the blue-eyed boy to think badly of him.

John smiled kindly. "He told me that you were brilliant. He said you can look at someone, and tell everything about them."  
Sherlock raised an eyebrow "That doesn't sound like Graham."  
("It's Greg" Lestrade mumbled.)  
"He also told me you were a bloody arsehole at times." John winked.  
"Ah, that sounds more like Gavin."  
(Lestrade murmured, almost to himself "It's Greg")  
Sally straightened up, with an air of prudish superiority. "And I told him you were a psychopath"  
"High-functioning sociopath" Sherlock corrected.

John shook his head at her, angrily. "So can you?"  
"Hm?" Sherlock tilted his head.  
"Can you... um, you know, can you really tell everything about me just from looking at me?" John asked, suddenly curious to see his mind at work, but slightly nervous about what he'd find, he really didn't want him to mention his sister right now.

Sherlock looked slightly phased. No-one had ever shown an interest in his abilities before. Very softly, he murmured "Afghanistan or Iraq?"  
"What?"  
"Your father. He was in the army, no?"  
"How did you know that?" John was stunned. He wasn't sure he believed Greg until now.  
Sherlock gave him a look. _**Did you think he was lying? **_  
John stuttered "Afghanistan."  
"As I thought." Sherlock smiled.

John had no intention of leaving it at that. "Sherlock, tell me how you did that." He said sternly.  
Sherlock sat with his hands pressed together just below his chin. He turned his head to face John.  
"You really want to know?" His voice was oddly optimistic for someone who seemed so hostile to everyone. John nodded.

"You're wearing dog tags under your shirt. Completely hidden from view, though they may be, they still make a distinctive sound as you wouldn't be wearing them under your shirt if they were just for show, you would have taken them off. You are far too young to be in the army, meaning they must belong to someone else, someone of great importance to you. Your posture suggests some kind of knowledge of the army, and the bag at your feet is clearly of army origin, and is also hanging open slightly. The things inside the bag are ordered very neatly, with the things you will need most in the easiest to reach places, which is a practice commonly found among army soldiers as a means of making it easier to access items they require in a high pressure situation. The boots in your bag are highly polished, enough so that you can see the reflection of your school books clearly enough for me to be able to read the titles and subheadings, which is an army practice. Your connection to these items suggests you had a strong connection to the person, and that you were raised with good knowledge of the army and proceedures therein, meaning they must belong to one of your parents, however, after having seen your mother at the station, I can determine they do not belong to her, meaning it could only be your father. The most recent wars an English soldier could be involved in are Afghanistan and Iraq."

There was a stunned silence from John, and a sarcastic sigh from Sally "Told you he was a freak". Sherlock quietly inhaled in a sharp gasp. He hadn't quite intended to go into such detail. Surely, he had bored him. Surely the blue-eyed boy would resent him as the others did. After that outburst, he was certain he would think him a freak. And maybe he was right.

The silence lingered awkwardly for too long.  
It was soon broken, though not in the way Sherlock had anticipated.

"Brilliant!" John sighed, shocked at how amazing this boy's mind really was. And he meant it. Sherlock was brilliant.  
Sherlock smiled modestly, but John could see how much the compliment meant to him. He was obviously not used to people praising him.

"I never did introduce myself." John extended his hand. "John Watson."  
Sherlock shook his hand. "Sherlock Holmes."

**Stay On Target**

It seemed only mere moments ago that Luke had been stood on his Aunt and Uncle's moisture farm on Tatooine, staring up at the sky, brought to life under two suns, and wondering if he was ever going to join the rebellion and fight with the Jedi. Now, he solomnly wished he could just go back to shooting womp rats with his T16 at his Aunt and Uncle's farm. He stood before the compartment door, well aware that a stranger waited on the other side of the glass. The urge to move along and try to find an empty compartment was extremely tempting, however, he didn't know anyone from this school, and he really didn't want to start the year friendless, so he forced his hand to tap on the glass.

An older boy in a Slytherin uniform gestured for him to come in. He was at least a fifth year student, maybe a sixth year. He had floppy brown hair and a cheeky smile. He sat with his legs up on the chair, an air of cocky arrogance hanging in the air around him. Upon entering, he could see he was in a conflict with the wide-eyed Hufflepuff sat across from him.  
The older boy spoke in a voice laced with self confidence and sarcasm. "Do you think I had a choice?" He said, leaning forward.  
The Hufflepuff was unconvinced. "You can tell that to Jim. At best, he may only take your broom."  
The Slytherin sat up, with fire in his eyes. It was clearly common knowledge that you do not mess with his broom. "Over my dead body." He said through gritted teeth.  
The Hufflepuff laughed hysterically, in a way that made Luke feel incredibly uneasy, like he'd walked in on soemthing he wasn't meant to see. It wasn't so much a cruel laugh as it was a terrifying one. It didn't even seem to belong to the tiny blonde boy sitting accross from the Slytherin. It tore from his chest wildly, like he was possessed, juddering through the boy's tiny frame shakilly.

"I'm afraid, as far as Jim's concerned, that's the point." He raised his wand, pushing the tip to the older boy's jugular. "I've been looking forward to this for a long time, Solo."  
The Slytherin doesn't struggle against him, despite the fact that the Hufflepuff is tiny in comparison. He merely chuckles. "Oh, I bet you have" Then, without a word of warning, he muttered_** 'stupify'**_. Red sparks flew from his wand, knocking the Hufflepuff back against the seat of the compartment.

Luke was taken aback. He slowly stepped backwards, hands raised as if to defend himself. "What the hell did you do to him?" The boy was slumped over, lifeless.  
The Slytherin smirked. "Relax, kid. I only stupified him. He'll be fine once he wakes up. Sit."  
Luke hesitantly sat beside the Hufflepuff. "Who is that?"  
"That was George Greedo. Poor kid. Someone had him under the imperius curse, some asshole I owe money to. That wasn't him talking, it was Jim. He'll be okay once he wakes up."  
Luke nodded. "Luke Skywalker."  
The Slytherin smirked. "Han Solo. Seeker and captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team."

Han smiled. "Oh, and if anyone asks... Greedo shot first."  
"But he didn't shoot first."  
"I know."

**One for all.**

Loki was disinterested in the conversations of the older Griffindors. He had no interest in who liked who, the password to the common room or that one time that Thor got detention for smashing a mug in the great hall. He was purely, utterly, insanely bored.

That is, until the talk turned to the escape of a particularly nasty prisoner from Azkaban.  
"What did you say his name was?" This was the first time Loki had spoken in over half an hour.  
"Khan Noonien Singh." Bruce replied.  
Tony smiled a cocky smile "Let him try to get into Hogwarts, I doubt he'll be able to take on Ironman." Thor and Bruce cleare their throats. "With a little help from Thor and the Hulk. Besides, I doubt he's a match for Dumbledore."

Thor grimaced. Tony had always been a cocky son of a bitch, but last year had really done him in. After the incident in Hogsmeade, Tony had stood, in front of the entire school, and told them he was Ironman. The asshole was lucky he hadn't killed him. Bruce and Thor were casting memory wipe spells for hours. If he wasn't trying to keep it a secret, Bruce would've asked to be commended for his talent with memory wipe charms.

"Do you think it's true?" Bruce stuttered.  
Thor raised his eyebrows. "What?"  
"That he's after that Griffindor boy?"  
Tony scoffed. "What? James 'Tiberius' Kirk?" You could hear the inverted commas in his voice.  
Thor frowned "Isn't that the new captain of the Quidditch team?"

And just like that, the talk drifts back to Quidditch try-outs and dullness, and Loki is left to stare out of the window again, wondering if Khan would make an appearance at Hogwarts this year. In a small way, he wished that he would. Loki could always use a henchman, anyway. Or a wing man.

Then, the fun would begin.

**The Army Doctor And The Consulting Detective.**

John woke up with a start. He didn't remember going to sleep. He soon realised his head was resting on something soft. He sat up in horror, realising he had fallen asleep on Sherlock's shoulder.  
"Sorry!" John yelped, jumping away, and noticing, to his dismay, a small patch of drool on Sherlock's soulder.  
_**Oh God, Watson, you idiot! Tell me you did not just do that! **_The thoughts buzzed in his head like an angry wasp.

"It's fine." Sherlock mumbled. He seemed amused by John's reaction.  
John searched frantically around the compartment for something to say to change the subject.  
"How long until we get there?"  
Sherlock shrugged. "Not long. It's lucky you woke up when you did, or I might have had to wake you."

John turned his face, to see Donovan glaring at him. It hadn't occured to him that Sally and Greg had both seen him fall asleep until that point. He face burned, and he turned bright red in embarassment. Sally held her glare for a few seconds, then turned away. Greg, however was staring at John intently, making a suggestive face. John sighed, knowing Greg would never let him live that down.  
"So, what're you interested in?" John said.  
Greg burst into a fit of laughter. Realising what he had said, John fumbled to clarify what he had meant.  
"No, I didn't mean it like- I meant, like hobbies, like what you wanna do when you're older, like bands you like and stuff, not..." His words lingered in the air, but he refused to finish.

They chatted for a while as the castle grew closer and closer through the compartment window.  
"A Consulting Dectective?" John repeated.  
"I made it up myself" Sherlock said, with a great sense of pride.  
"So, it's like being a vigilante detective?"  
"That's a very dull way of putting it, but yes, I suppose. And yourself, John?"  
"I always thought I'd join the army, like my dad." He smiled.  
Sensing there was more, Sherlock pushed John for more information. "_**But**_?"  
"I want to be a doctor."  
Sherlock chuckled. John was hurt at first, but then he realised, he wasn't laughing _**at**_ him, but with him. "The army doctor and the consulting detective." Sherlock muttered. "What a curious pairing."

The train eventually stopped, and John looked out in wonder at the school. It stood on a cliff, accross from a lake. Lanterns shone brightly against the royal blue of the night sky, and the castle seemed to jut out from the cliff face, like rock. It all looked so surreal and magical. John, as a halfblood, had never really had much of a connection with the magical world, but there was no doubt in his mind now, this was gonna be a hell of a year.

Even Sherlock seemed mistified by the castle, the light of the floating lanterns illuminating his face in a way that made him seem ethereal.

And together, the students, new and old, climbed aboard the enchanted long boats and set sail for Hogwarts.

What a year this was going to be.


	2. The Sorting Ceremony

**From Hell's Heart**

**_"Revenge blackens the sweetest of hearts"_**

**_- Gillian Dunning _**

His aching muscles were relieved by the chilly, September air. He let himself relax, basking in the fading light of the cool night, the waves of the cold breeze lapping at his skin.

He was free.

Free of that God forsaken prison. Azkaban was a million miles away, and as the sun heaved itself over the blurry horizon and the world plummeted into eternal blackness, only the lights of Hogwarts castle were visible to his once young eyes. He ran a hand through his silver-grey hair, shuddering at the pleasant sensation of the wind tickling between the follicles.

He was free, but all was not well.

They had robbed him of his memories. Every shred of emotion had been extracted. He had never felt such pain in his many years of life- it was like he was being drained, like his blood was being forcibly sucked out; it had felt like his veins were tightening, emptying themselves of blood and constricting his muscles, tearing through them in an attempt to hack out his still beating heart.

Without his happiness, all he could feel was burning hatred, bubbling in the pit of his stomach like boiling tar. It was Kirk's fault.

He was free, but all was not well, he was angry.

After Kirk had Khan and his people imprisoned in Askaban, Khan would show no mercy. Muttering an incantation, he flicked his wand, showering the grand lake bordering the school with sparks. Then, slowly, silently, the water began to churn and gurgle, until, arising from the water like a giant waking from a thousand year slumber, a huge galleon wrenched itself to the surface, and began to levitate above the water, dripping water and glowing an odd blue-green that highlighted the tattered and translucent sails. In the dim glow of the ship, Khan smirked with menace in his eyes as he saw that familiar inscription-"SS Botany Bay". The ship hovered above him, a ghost ship, empty without his crew. Soon, he promised himself. Soon the ship's crew would be 72 strong, and he would return to Hogwarts. And when he did... He burst into a fit of mad laughter.

"To be or not to be, Kirk?" He chuckled, striding off along the cliffs, the ship following, sailing on the wind.

**A New Hope**

Leia strode through the crowd, seeking out the girl who had spoken so sweetly to her on the train. The students separated into lines as a large, hairy man - who was oddly reminiscent of a wookie - shouted over the crowd for them to line up in year groups, making it easier for Leia to spot her. She was so easy to lose in a crowd, all timid and small, with mousy brown hair scraped back into a ponytail. But Leia knew she was far from ordinary. After knowing her for only a few short hours, she could already safely say that Molly Hooper was far more than what met the eye.

"Leia!"

"I thought I'd lost you in the crowd for a moment." Leia smiled.

"Nervous?" Molly asked.

Leia shook her head. She had long since learned that no good came from worrying over the inevitable, nor from dwelling on the past. She shook her head to clear the memories. "Not at all. Are you?"

Molly nodded shyly. "My family are all proud Hufflepuffs. I don't want to disappoint them."

Leia rested a hand on Molly's shoulder in reassurance. "I'm sure you'll get in" She smiled.

"You don't understand" squeaked the shorter girl. "I don't want to be a Hufflepuff! I want to be somewhere where I'm not just another dull idiot strolling through life for the sake of doing so! I want to be a Ravenclaw. My dad says I'm not smart enough, but I have to be. I have to prove to him that I can. I may not count to him, but in Ravenclaw, I'll count."

Leia smiled. "Then you'll show him you do count. You'll make a great Ravenclaw, Molly, I know it!"

"And you?" Molly asked.

Leia was about to answer, when a strong, female voice cut the chatter like glass. Every student was silent in respect for the woman who stood before them. The weight of her presence lingered in the crisp, cool air of the September sky, and the patient silence of the students went a long way to show how important the witch in the emerald robes was. Then, she spoke again.

"Welcome to Hogwarts. I am professor McGonagall. The start of term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. While you are here, your house will be like your family. You will eat with your house, have classes with your house, and any spare time can be spent in the house common room. The four houses are Griffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin."

Further down the line, John Watson's stomach turned at the sound of the last house.

"While here, triumphs will earn you house points. Rule breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honour. May you each be a credit to whichever house you are selected for."

There was a heavy wooden groan as the doors to the Great Hall were forced open. Inside, the hall was lit warmly by a number of floating candles, and above them, the roof was enchanted to show the velvety blue of the night sky. Then there was silence, as the names began to be called, and the first student, shaking with anxiety, sat on the stool.

One by one, the students were sent to their respective houses. Griffindors were welcomed by hearty laughter and applause, Ravenclaw with polite applause and handshakes. The Slytherins were welcome by nods of approval and polite murmurs of "welcome to Slytherin", and the Hufflepuffs were pulled in for hugs and assaulted by friendly pats on the shoulder.

"Leia Organa" Came the call. Suddenly, her confidence evaporated as she fumbled her way to the stool.

The hat's sneering voice whispered in her ear with a chuckle. "A bit of a rebel, are we? Better be... GRIFFINDOR!"

With one last smile to molly, Leia disappeared into the swathes of red-robed Griffindors.

She really needn't have worried. The hat only sat on her head for a mere second before declaring "RAVENCLAW!"

Upon sitting at the table, she found herself sitting directly across from a dark haired boy. She instantly remembered him from the train station. She must have looked such an idiot, dropping her books like that. Sherlock surveyed her for a few seconds with bored eyes before returning his gaze to the hat. He didn't have to talk to her to know that she was a halfblood, raised in London, and wanted to be a Ravenclaw to prove herself to her overly controlling father, or that she had spent the few hours she had been awake before boarding the train crying, probably whilst listening to the muggle band whose logo she had on her satchel.

Dull.

**The Needs Of The One**

Kirk leaned back on his chair, sure of his position as head of the table. He was in his final year now, and had recently become captain of the Griffindor quidditch team, after the last captain, Catherine Janeway, had left the school. He had, of course, heard the rumours of Khan Noonien Singh's escape from Azkaban, and had spent the last few days trying to put it out of his mind, though, admittedly, he had barely touched his food. How could he eat while his nemesis was free-and hunting him, too!

His worries were, however, very quickly forgotten when a tall boy with Sandy hair claimed the empty seat next to Bones and Uhura.

"Hi, I'm Luke Skywalker" The boy smiled.

"That's quite an odd name" Kirk remarked.

"If you think that's weird, you should meet my cousin, Dennis Starkiller." He joked.

Kirk slapped a hand down onto Luke's shoulder. "I'm James Tiberius Kirk. Welcome to Griffindor."

Luke laughed "Tiberius? And you think my name's odd?"

Loki drew close to the sorting hat, taking care to walk slowly and confidently enough to demonstrate an air of authority. He was Loki of Asgard, and he would not be belittled by a scrap of Midgardian fabric. The hat was placed on his head, and almost instantly, the muttering began. "Rather a lot to work with in your head, child of Asgard. Or is it Jottunheim?" The hat chuckled as Loki gritted his teeth in agitation. "A king, so cruelly robbed of his throne by his reckless brother. I understand your anger, child of Asgard, I can see it all in your head. So how best to make your brother regret ever being chosen for the throne? I know, I'll put you in... SLYTHERIN!"

Loki marched to the table draped in green, nodding politely at his brother, who smiled despite his disappointment, desperate to show he would still care for him, even if he was in another house. Not he needed Thor's approval. If things went to plan for him this year, he'd be restored to his throne, and Thor would be powerless to stop him.

Upon sitting, he was aware of the eyes on his back. He turned to face the small, sour faced boy who returned his eye contact. "Phillip Anderson." The boy said, offering a hand.

"Loki Laufeyson." he smiled, returning his handshake.

The Badger And The Crow

"A friend is one that knows you as you are, understands where you have been, accepts what you have become, and still, gently allows you to grow."

-William Shakespeare

John stumbled forwards, feeling overly conscious of the hundreds of sets of eyes that followed him to the stool. He scanned the Ravenclaw table, searching for Sherlock's distinctive dark curls. After being separated in the crowd, John had felt incredibly vulnerable. Some words of reassurance from the genius would have gone a long way to calm the erratic pangs of worry that shot down his spine and sat heavily in his stomach.

Then, the hat sank onto his head, temporarily obscuring his view of the curly-haired Ravenclaw. And then, Sherlock smiled. It was a sweet smile, one that suited his face so well. It was a smile that said all of things he couldn't voice. A smile that told him it would be okay, hang in there, no matter what happens. One look at Greg's bewildered face was enough to tell John that it was very rare that Sherlock smiled at anyone.

Then, the hat spoke. "Ah, another Watson, eh?" The hat chuckled. "You wouldn't happen to be dear Harriet's brother, would you?" John felt a jolt in his stomach. He gritted his teeth, and whispered "yes".

The hat burst into laughter. John could feel his cheeks burning. "Whatever happened to darling Harry, John? Last I heard, she and a dementor were set to share their first kiss!"

John was shaking, desperately trying to withhold his feelings. Gritting his teeth, he managed to spit "Shut up!"

The hat sighed. "I suppose we're done here, Watson. Do send Harry my love." The hat paused to check John's reaction before declaring "HUFFLEPUFF!"

John stood, but he didn't feel himself stand. He didn't feel himself walk to the table. He just felt the disappointment seep into his blood like poison. How long he had wanted to be a Griffindor, and it was over in a matter of seconds? Had the hat purposely put him in Hufflepuff to upset him? He could be brave! He could be anything he had to be! Surely, the hat was wrong, it wasn't fair! I mean, honestly-

"Are you okay, John?"

John looked up, to see a blonde second year student smiling kindly at him. He was extremely short, to say the least. "I'm fine" John smiled.

"I'm George. George Greedo"

"John Watson."

"Nice to finally meet you" Greedo smiled. "I've heard a lot about you." He cast his eyes over to a small group of Hufflepuffs further down the table, giving the impression he had to leave. "You sure you're okay?" He asked cautiously.

"I'm fine. Thanks."

the Hufflepuff smiled, his too-large eyes searching his face, like he was trying to remember something, before shuffling off to join his friends. Then it hit him... How the hell did that kid know his name? He shuddered, and shrugged off the memory of the fairytale his mother used to tell him as a child.

_'And though he smiled, the smile was not his,  
And his laugh was unnatural, too close to a scream,  
And who, tell me who, would use magic like this?  
He was in a trance, his mind in a dream._

_He knew things he couldn't have known,  
He spoke in a voice that wasn't his own,  
The meeting was short, a ghost of a meeting,  
Later, he remembered, but his memory was fleeting._

_A horrible experience,  
And one filled with shame,  
The imperius curse,  
Brings forth only pain'_

The words echoed in his head. It was just a silly poem from one of those cautionary tales for kids, you know the sort; 'Don't use the forbidden curses or bad things will happen'. The villain used the curse on someone, and in the end, it all backfired on him blah, blah, blah.

John pushed it out of his mind.

After the feast, John fought his way through the crowd. Sherlock smiled in spite of himself when John grasped his arm from behind as he made to leave the Great Hall.

"Sherlock!"

He turned to face him. "John." He said coolly.

"Um, I was just thinking-" he paused, suddenly realising he was still gripping Sherlock's arm firmly. He dropped his arm and cleared his throat. "I was thinking, the Hufflepuffs are all heading to the Quidditch pitch. This girl, Annie from fifth year has some enchanted fireworks and we're all going to watch. Wanna come with us? I mean, if you want. You don't have to or anything."

Sherlock looked up at the night sky, as if trying to prepare a reason why he really shouldn't go with him, but he couldn't find the words, so he just said "Sure."

Ten minutes later, they stood on the dew-drenched grass of the pitch, leaning on the wall of the stands, the night sky a back drop against the flurry of yellow fireworks that dashed through the blackness. John shuddered. He hadn't expected it to be so cold. Suddenly, he felt hands gently moving across the skin of his neck. He turned, to see Sherlock busy wrapping his scarf around John's shoulders. John felt himself blush, and hoped the darkness would hide the redness that was undoubtedly making an appearance on his cheeks.

"You looked cold." Sherlock stated, as calmly as if he were commenting on the weather.

"Er, thanks, Sherlock." He paused for a second. "I can look after myself, you know."

"Oh, I know" Sherlock replied. There was no hint of sarcasm in his voice. John sighed and pulled the scarf tighter around him. Sherlock started to chuckle, but was cut off when John elbowed him in the ribs.

"Ouch!" Sherlock protested.

"Oh, shut up" John smiled.

In the distance, John recognised the face of a Hufflepuff boy heading their way.

"Mike!" John greeted him cheerfully.

"John!" Mike exclaimed breathlessly. "I lost track of you after the feast, wasn't sure if you'd be here..." Mike's eyes flickered to Sherlock. "I see you have a friend"

He said it in an odd way. Mike was the only person John knew who could make the word 'friend' sound like they were shagging.

"Sherlock Holmes" He shook his hand.

"Sherlock, this is Mike Stamford, my friend and pain in my arse since primary school."

Mike bowed extravagantly. "At your service. You know, it's not often you see a Ravenclaw and a Hufflepuff together. It's nice to see the Badgers hanging with the Crows, so to speak"

"Well, it's nice to meet you" Sherlock didn't sound convinced.

"Anyway" muttered Mike, "I'll leave you to it" He walked away with a wink, as John trailed after him.

"Mike! Mike, we're not- I'm not gay! I'm not his date! He is not my boyfriend! Mike!" Mike wasn't listening.

Sherlock was chuckling. John snapped back to look at him. "What? That's not funny!"

"It kind of is, John. You should've seen the look on your face." John puffed out a breath of air, which lingered frostilly in the chilly air.

Sherlock's eyes were focused intently on the dark, his body stiffened, and he took in a sharp breath.

It didn't take John long to find the source of Sherlock's anxiety; From across the pitch, he noticed a small cluster of green-robed students moving towards them. Puzzled, John squinted to see Phillip Anderson and his gang, Sally among them, sporting blue Ravenclaw robes.

"Freak." She smiled in greeting.

"Sally" Sherlock smiled sarcastically "how lovely to see you. And you too, Anderson. It's not often I am blessed with the company of a caveman like yourself."

Anderson grabbed the lapels of Sherlock's coat and rammed him against the wall of the stands.

"You might think about watching your mouth, freak, or I'll have to shut it for you."

Sherlock looked like he was about to shove Anderson, but he didn't. He just laughed. "Oh come now, Phillip, Don't talk out loud, you'll lower the IQ of the entire school."

Anderson pulled back his fist, planning to punch him straight in the jaw, but he couldn't bring himself to do it, not because he had changed his mind, but because he physically couldn't; something was holding him back. He turned, just in time for John to land a punch firmly into his nose.

Anderson screamed in pain, clutching his bloody nose. "You broke his nose, you bastard!" Sally shouted.

John stood over Anderson. "In future, mate, I suggest you lay off of my friends. Got it?" He gave him a menacing smile, and was tempted to hit him again. Just as he was contemplating this, Anderson staggered to his feet, shouting for his gang to follow him.

"This isn't over, freak!" Anderson shouted. He turned to spit at John "Watch your back, Watson!"

John flipped him off. He dusted himself down, and turned to Sherlock, who had already straightened himself up, and was dabbing a tissue against a cut on his head.

"You okay, mate?" John asked. Mate? Seriously? He shook it off, vowing to never try calling Sherlock 'mate' again.

"Fine." Sherlock said bluntly. "That thing you did." Sherlock turned up his coat collar. "It was...good."John smiled, realising this was the closest he'd get to 'Thank you'.

"You're welcome. You gonna tell me what that was about?"

Sherlock shook his head. "Just Anderson. He's an asshole, just forget about it." Sherlock paused to button up his coat. "Common room?"

"Thought you'd never ask. It's bloody freezing out here" John laughed.

And so, the Badger and the Crow strolled back to the Hufflepuff common room.

_Gryffindor Common Room, 3 Weeks Later._

**Said The Spider To The Fly**

It was past midnight when there came a knock at the common room door. Sitrring from her chair before the roaring fire, Sarah Jane stands and makes her way to the door. The Fat Lady grumbled in her sleep, but made no other sound to betray her location as she slipped out of the Gryffindor common room to meet the two timelords.

The Doctor, as he insisted she call him, was now wearing Ravenclaw robes, after having been sorted with some difficulty, and eventually put in Ravenclaw at his request. The Master looked right at home in his green Slytherin robes.

Upon meeting her eye, the Master grinned in a way that looked almost threatening in the dim light of the lantern as they made their way in silence through the grounds. Sarah Jane glanced around curiously, wondering where they were going.

"What's going on?" She said, her voice a harsh whisper in the otherwise quiet night.

The Master turned his head in a mocking grin before turning back and ignoring her. Sarah Jane's breath halted momentarily. Something about this boy didn't seem right- at a moment's notice, he could look so much older, but, she supposed, the Doctor was the same.

The Doctor saw this as his cue to explain. "I heard a rumour that there was something killing unicorns in the forbidden forest."

"So you decided it would be a great idea for three first year students to go running around after it?!"

The Doctor wasn't phased, he simply cocked his head back with a cheeky smile. "You know me, Sarah Jane, can't resist an adventure. Allons-y!"

Sarah smiled, but his words unsettled her. No, she didn't know him. She met him mere hours ago, and now she was following him into a dark forest in search of a murderous monster who was most likely going to kill them. Once again, she realised her penchant for blindly rushing into danger without thinking about the consequences.

This was quickly forgotten at the sound of a dripping, insectoid clicking arising from the forest behind them.

Sarah Jane turned, her view obscured by the form of the Doctor, flinging himself across her to throw her out of the way. When she had shuffled back on the slippery grass far enough to see the offending creature, her heart stopped in her chest, stuttering and causing her to stagger back further. A huge black spider, easily the size of three people, towered over them, the eerie clicking emininating from somewhere deep within its monstrous form.

"Run!" The Doctor yelled, grabbing Sarah and pulling her away, before moving back to help the Master, who had fallen on the ground at the base of a particularly tall tree, which was now splintered and swaying unevenly from the impact of the Master being hurled at it. Then, the first of a series of strange things happened.

First, the spider seemed to recoil at the sight of the Master's face. Then, it began to scurry away. Then, when it was a safe distance away, it spoke.

"You." It clicked.

The Doctor stood, rage in his eyes. "Who are you? Why did you attack my friend?"

Sarah Jane stood up and resting a reassuring hand on the Doctor's shoulder, daring to close the space between herself and the monster.

"I am Gladan. Who are you?" His voice was deep and sinister. It creaked like the wood of the splintered tree.

"Sarah Jane Smith." She said. "This is my friend, the Doctor. And this is the Master."

She gestured, shocked to find that the Master was no longer there.

"Oh, I know all too well the identity of your little friend, Miss Smith." Other, smaller clicking sounds filled the air around them, starting out quiet, gradually growing louder and closer, until they were completely surrounded by spiders. (Acromantula's, she later discovered)

"The Master asked me to give you a message."

The Doctor stiffened. He had been betrayed. Him and the Master were the only Timelords in the magical world. They were supposed to stick together. So he said, anyway. "What did he say?"

"He said he's sorry he couldn't be here to see this."

Then, the clicking increased, the hungry voices of the gigantic spiders whispering far to close to them. And then, the spiders closed in.


	3. Steal The Night

**Sleep Well, Sweet Prince**

**_To be great is to be misunderstood._**

**_-Ralph Waldo Emerson_**

Loki was bored. Again. He felt like 3 years had passed in as many hours. He lay back on his bed, repeatedly tossing a golden goblet into the air, only to snatch it back seconds before it fell back down. The midgardian children had long since ceased their chatter and retired to their respective beds, yet Loki was still wide awake. He was tempted to prank the midgardian children as they slept, but decided against it.

He found his thoughts once again wandering to the prisoner who had recently escaped Askaban. Khan Noonien Singh. If the rumours were true, he was coming to Hogwarts. Perhaps, he thought, the knowledge of Khan's approach should fill him with fear. Should he be afraid? Should he dread the day that the Botany Bay sailed into Hogwarts?

Perhaps, but nevertheless, he found himself oddly exited by the idea. He had often found his thoughts roaming beyond the border of his trademark playful mischief, especially since Thor was chosen as the soon-to-be ruler of Asgard. He had often fantasized about it, of standing before the masses, rejoicing in his victory as each and every pitiful soul knelt at his feet, yet his father had robbed him of his birthright. However,this realm, this Midgard... The people here were, in appearance, if nothing else, almost identical to his Asgardian brethren. He had often thought of how easy it would be to seize control of this tiny planet, and for whatever reason, Khan's escape was the last nail in the coffin.

So it was decided. He would take this puny planet as his own. And should this Noonien Singh attack Hogwarts, he would try and recruit him. He needed a man like Khan. And when he out lived his usefulness? Well, Loki would see to it that he was taken care of.

He sighed, watching the flurry of yellow fireworks painting the sky, as the Hufflepuff house welcomed it's new students with a late-night pyrotechnics display, thinking once more, of his inevitable rule.

They would all kneel.

His thoughts were interupted by the appearance of a face peaking over the top of the bunk. The boy was pale, with pitch black eyes and dark brown hair, and a somewhat regal appearance. He was much older than Loki (in appearance, at least), possibly a sixth or seventh year student, which was odd, a people only tended to stay for the seventh year if they had plans to work in the Ministry.

The boy looked around, checking the Midgardians were still asleep. "Can't sleep either?"

Loki shrugged. "My mind seldom comes to rest, so why should I?"

"Good point" The boy smiled, sliding down from the bunk and landing neatly beside the bed. "I don't understand how people can sleep through the night. It is, undoubtedly, the best time of the day."

"I suppose it does have a rather alluring feel." Loki replied.

"The call of the night beckons only to those strong enough to cease it... Wanna see something cool?" He asked, turning his face to the window, the crack in the curtains bathing his face in the glorious light of the moon.

Loki rolled the goblet around in his hand, contemplating the boy's offer. "Why not?" He sighed, jumping out of bed with the grace of a jungle cat. He extended a hand in greeting. "Loki Laufeyson."

The boy shook his hand. "I am Harry Yorke, but feel free to call me Hal, everyone else seems to prefer it."

Then, silent silhouttes against the dark walls of the Slytherin common room, the boys slipped out into the night.

-  
_3rd Floor, Start Of Spring Term_

**Second Star To The Right**

Kirk and Luke slid into the shadows, backs pressed against the cold stone wall, flamnked by Bones and Scotty, as Filch's lantern swung past them. Deciding there was no-one around, he shrugged, stroking his loyal cat before turning and walking away. "Come on, Mrs Norris."

Luke turned back. "That was close. Think he's coming back?"

Bones gave a wry smile. "I'm a wizard, not a fortune teller."

"I doubt he'll be back" came Scotty's strong brogue in response.

"What are we actually doing, Kirk?" Luke asked, blinking through the darkness.

"We are going to have a broom race." He chuckled.

"Wait, I'm a first year, I'm not allowed-"

"Then it'll be our secret. Come on, lighten up!" Kirk slapped him on the shoulder.

Twenty minutes and a substantial amount of sneaking about and squeezing through narrow passages later, the stood in a large hallway. Luke watched as Kirk paced about in front of the door three times, and a gigantic door appeared.

"Don't just stand there." Bones said, pulling him through the door after him.

It was amazing. Luke could barely believe what he saw. The room, if it could even be called that, resembled the kind of Quidditch stadium he'd only ever seen at the world cup, huge and bright, lit up by glowing lights and the glow of an artificial moon. If he didn't know better, he'd think he really was outside, on the pitch. Lined up by the side of the stalls were four brooms.

Brushing past him to grab a sleek, silver Nimbus, engraves with the word 'Enterprise', Kirk smiled back at him. "Can you fly?"

Luke shook his head. "Well, I- Not very well"

Scotty patted him on the shoulder as her turned to mount his Cleansweep. "You're gonna learn tonight, lad" He chuckled.

Bones, who was already high in the sky by this point, rolled his eyes.

Shakilly, Luke mounted the remaining broom. This was nothing like his T-16.

He took off with a shudder, aware of Scotty and Bones flanking him, ready to catch him if the need arose. After a few minutes of whizzing around the pitch, cool air beating against his flushed face, Scotty and Bones left his side, seemingly satisfied that his would cope on his own.

"Luke!" Kirk shouted, flying closer. "Race you round the pitch?"

Luke laughed and nodded, the feeling of exhillaration alleviating any symptoms of nervousness from his being.

He could get used to this.


	4. Call Me Maybe

**Call Me Maybe**

_**'You can't keep dancing with the Devil and wonder why you are still in Hell'**_

_**-Anon**_

Sherlock sat in the great hall. Now laid bare in the absence of the feast, not even the enchanted ceiling could do much to lighten the atmosphere. Of course, Sherlock wasn't surprised when his solitude was interrupted by sharp footsteps on the polished floor. Putting down his newspaper, he addressed the intruder without turning to face him.

"Brook wasn't it?"

The intruder smiled sweetly. "Richard." He said warmly.

"What is it you want Brook? I'm busy." Sherlock made a point of rustling the newspaper's pages noisily as he found his place and returned to his reading.

"Molly talks a lot about you, you know." He shifted from foot to foot, like a bored child. "I thought I'd meet the illustrious Sherlock Holmes for myself."

With little more than a passing glance as he turned to face Richard, Sherlock had already deduced that he was homosexual, possibly bisexual-no, his high standard of personal grooming and the damn-near predatory look he was giving Sherlock definitely said gay. He was shorter than Sherlock, and his well-tailored Slytherin robes were clearly made for him personally, the stitching suggested it had been made by a muggle designer, and a good one, at that. Richard noticed Sherlock's gaze.

"Like the Westwood?" He raised a eyebrow, brushing his hand across the fabric in an extravagant arc, as though advertising himself.

Sherlock stared at him for a moment, before returning his attention to the article in the newspaper that lay on his lap. Richard waltzed over to him with the elegance of a panther, situating himself behind Sherlock, peering over his left shoulder to the newspaper below.

"Shame about that one" He murmured, gesturing towards the headline 'Local Boy Found Dead In Hogsmeade'. Sherlock looked over his shoulder to meet Richard's gaze.

"I'm investigating it for them. Rather a dull case, I find. Barely even a six. I only take eight's or above usually."

Richard leaned closer to him, a devillish grin playing at his lips. "So why take it?"

Sherlock smiled. "Because the murderer is an old aquaintance of mine."

"Is it commonplace for first years to have a history with murderous psycopaths?"

"Perhaps it isn't commonplace, but I am far from ordinary."

"So I've heard. See you around, Sherlock." And with that, he turned neatly on his heel and strode out of the great hall, leaving Sherlock to muse the case.

An audible sigh could be heard as Sherlock caught sight of a small slip of paper, folded with almost obsessive accuracy on the table. He picked it up, unfolding it, and of course, discovering a phone number with the word 'Richard' neatly written beside it in crimson ink- as if he needed any further proof of the accuracy of his earlier deduction.

_**I knew he had a reason for coming here**_, he thought, before moving on to the case of young Anna Van Houten. It was odd, but he had the feeling this whole thing ran deeper than he had first assumed. He didn't like that thought.


End file.
